


Half Empty, Whole Again

by EllieSaxon



Series: Up The Seventeen Steps [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Break Up, Hospitals, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mild Language, Not Season/Series 03 Compliant, Post-Reichenbach, Sherlock is insecure and ends up eff-ing this up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-11 16:11:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4442423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllieSaxon/pseuds/EllieSaxon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock get into a major argument, and John walks out. Three months later, a case gone wrong leaves Sherlock in the hospital.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Half Empty, Whole Again

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'd. Not Brit-picked. I did my best to edit this, but stuff falls through the cracks. All errors are my own, apologies.

He had always thought that there would be more fire and the screams of innocent bystanders, when his world ended, but with just five little words, _‘I can’t do this anymore’_ , the ground fell out from beneath Sherlock’s feet, and his world was over. It may have been Jim Moriarty who made the initial threat, but it was John Watson who actually managed to burn his heart out. 

*******

_Hearing the door to 221 Baker Street slam shut, and heavy foot falls race up the seventeen steps to flat B, Sherlock braced himself for what was bound to be a very loud, very irate conversation._

_"Where the fuck have you been?!” John growled through grit teeth, as he entered to sitting room._

_"Solving a murder.” Sherlock bit back, refusing to look up from his laptop._

_“Four days! Not a single word from you in four days!”_

_“Ah, I’m glad you still know how to tell time and count!”_

_“Oh no you don’t, don’t even think about being clever with me.” At this point, John was fuming. Sherlock was honestly surprised the vein in his forehead hadn’t burst. “Do you have any idea what all went through my head when you didn’t answer my texts, my calls, when you didn’t come home?”_

_“Oh, where you worried?” Sherlock knew he was only making matters worse, but he couldn’t stop himself, he had every reason to be annoyed with John._

_“Worried? Worried doesn’t even begin to cover it. The only reason I didn’t call in damn MI5 was because, apparently you were keeping in touch with Greg.”_

_“Yes, I was. So it was all fine, nothing to get so worked up about.” Sherlock sneered, finally looking up at his partner._

_“Why did you cut me out, Sherlock?” John’s voice getting dangerously low. Sherlock had only heard this tone twice, and both times it was directed toward a criminal who, shortly thereafter, found themselves in the hospital._

_“I didn’t ‘cut you out’. Clearly you worked the other end with Lestrade.” Sherlock said with a dismissive wave of the hand. “Besides, you’ve worked with me long enough to know I tend to run off when I find a lead.”_

_"Yeah, and you always tell me where you’re going, or where you are. We’re partners, Sherlock, that’s how these things work. That’s how relationships work.”_

_“Oh, you want to talk about relationships, now. Well, I’m honestly surprised you even_ noticed  _I’d left. You did look awfully busy, awful_ content _, with Ms. Burns wrapped in your arms.” Sherlock snapped, getting to the heart of what was really bothering him._

_"You have got to be fucking kidding me!” John huffed. “She had just discovered her best friend’s body, she was distraught. If you had bothered paying attention to_ people _, you’ll have noticed_ she _hugged_ me _. I was offering her comfort, I know what it’s like to look at your best friend dead on the ground.” He said pointedly._

_“I’m sure it was quite comfortable for you.”_

_“Can we please not do this again? I’m not interested in Ms. Burns. I’m not interested in the checkout girl at Tescos. I’m not interested in any of London’s 3.2 million women!”_

_“Really? Well that’s certainly a change.”_

_“Yes really. How many times do I have to tell you, I’m only interested in you. I’m in love with you.” John said with an exasperated sigh. “And I have been for quite a while.”_

_“Well, forgive me if I don’t quite believe you, not when a woman catches your eye everywhere you go.”_

_“God damn it, Sherlock!” John yelled, taking a few deep breaths. “This is the last time I’m saying this: from the second we got together, no woman has ‘caught my eye.’ Well before that, if I’m being honest. Smiling at a waitress doesn’t mean I’m interested, it means I’m polite. And I’m not going to turn away a grieving woman, needing a shoulder to cry on, just because_ you  _get needlessly insecure.”_

_“How convenient.  You were attracted to women for thirty plus years, and you can just turn it off.” Sherlock didn’t know why he kept talking, why he kept pushing it. He knew John loved him, he knew John was nothing but completely loyal. But there was that constant fear that one day a woman would come along and make John remember why he only dated women before, why his relationship with Sherlock was so out of the ordinary for him. Bisexual or not, there was a reason John stuck to only women._

_“You know what, sod this. I’m not going to stand here and have you turn this around on me. You disappeared for four days, you turned me away. This is on you. I’ll be upstairs, I need to think.” Upstairs, John was headed to his former room. No matter what happened before, he always found refuge in their shared bedroom, the very epitome of their shared lives. But now John wanted to be away from ‘them.’_

_“Off to call Ms. Burns? Maybe she needs more_ comfort _?” God damn it, why couldn’t Sherlock keep his mouth shut?_

_John stopped in the doorway, shoulders shagged, and that’s when Sherlock heard him say it, “I can’t do this anymore.” John spoke so softly it was almost easy to miss, but those five words would be forever etched in Sherlock’s memory._

_“This? You mean me? You mean us?” Sherlock asked, his nightmare slowly becoming a reality._

_“This same argument. Your refusal to believe me, to trust me. I’ve had enough.” John answered, not looking at Sherlock._

_Sherlock wanted to scream, to apologize, to tell John there was not one on Earth he trusted more, to grab John and never let go. Instead he grew cold, emotionless.“So that’s it, we’re over?”_

_“I don’t know. Maybe.”_

_“Maybe? It’s yes or no.”_

_“It’s maybe. I just know I can’t be around you right now.” John said, finally turning around and looking defeated, looking broken. “I’ll see if I can stay with Harry. If not, I’ll find somewhere else to go. Call me when you’re ready to see reason, maybe we can figure it out then.”_

_Before Sherlock could catch his breath, before he could process what had just happened, John had a bag packed and was out the door._

 

*******

 

It had been a week since Sherlock’s best friend of the past five years, and boyfriend/partner/center of his universe of eighteen months, walked out the door of 221B Baker Street. Two nights before, Harry stopped by to pack up a few boxes of John’s things, and left without a word. John was gone, out of Sherlock’s life. All he had left of the love of his life, was a handful of jumpers, a few meaningless mementos, old books, and the dog tags John gave him on their one year anniversary.

Clutching the dog tags he now wore around his neck, Sherlock decided to shut it all down, lock away every emotion, all the hurt and the sorrow, and focus on the present. He had been alone before he met John, he had been alone for two years fighting for John, and he could be alone again. He still had The Work, and that’s all that mattered now, so when Lestrade phoned about a suspicious suicide, Sherlock answered.

 

Transitioning back into solo work was, admittedly, difficult. Walking into the first crime scene, only to have Lestrade immediately ask where John was, tested his control. Having to say  _“John no longer wishes to associate himself with me”_ threatened to break down the fragile dam holding back everything Sherlock was fighting to no longer feel.

With time it grew, not easier, but bearable. Sherlock took every case brought to him, anything to keep his mind focused away from the empty half of everything, the empty half of the wardrobe, the empty half of the bed, the empty half of the flat, the empty half of himself. Despite the fears of Lestrade, Molly, Mrs. Hudson, and even his brother, Sherlock did not turn back to drugs. Giving into the temptation of drugs would mean he failed, would mean he let  _him_ down, and Sherlock was not going to let himself be a disappointment, even if John would never know. He simply ran himself ragged to the point of exhaustion. He let the exhaustion give way to sleep; at least in sleep Sherlock could escape the reality of being alone.

 

It all came to a head, the nonstop cases, the exhaustion, the loneliness, three months after John walked out the door. Sherlock was chasing his client’s physical therapist, who Sherlock was able to deduce was stealing the client’s pain medication to sell.

“Phone Lestrade.” Sherlock called over his shoulder as he cornered the suspect. In the high of the chase, Sherlock forgot he was alone, for one blissful moment he believed John would be running up behind him, mobile in hand. Sherlock’s concentration falters, and that’s all that was needed. One second he’s cursing himself, his mind, for the memory lapse, and the next he feels the searing pain of a freezing blade entering his side, just below his ribcage.

With a rough yank, the blade was gone, and Sherlock was on the ground, blood seeping from the wound, soaking his shirt. Before he could think to get to his phone, his head exploded in agony, and everything begins to fade. This, this was how Sherlock Holmes was going to die, bleeding out in a dirty alleyway, alone.

_"Sir? Sir, are you alright? Oh my God! Angie, call 999 now!”_ a distant voice called from somewhere in the haze.  John?  No, John was gone.  _“Sir, it’s going to be alright, you’re going to be alright. Help is coming.”_ The voice said again, and then darkness.

 

* * *

 

_Beep…. Beep…. Beep_

Hearing was the first sense to return, to break through the gossamer haze enveloping Sherlock’s entire being. Smell came next, the harsh sterility of disinfectant masking illness and suffering. Finally the pain, dull aches in his abdomen and head, blooming and intensifying.

Slowly Sherlock opened his eyes to the muted cream walls of a hospital room, lit by the late afternoon sun streaming through the window. To his left, an EKG and EEG monitored his heart and brain activity, IVs supplied him with medicine and electrolytes, and at the foot of his bed was a large bouquet of bright yellow and white flowers. But Sherlock saw none of this. To his right, slumped over in a faux leather chair, head and shoulders laying on the bed, left hand lightly clutching Sherlock’s right, was John Watson. It had to be a dream.

Instinctually Sherlock reached over to run his free hand through the head of soft golden blond, silvery gray hair, causing a sharp pain to shoot through the left side of his chest. Not a dream.

“Mr. Holmes, you’re awake,” came a voice from the doorway. Sherlock didn’t turn to look, unable to take his eye off the sleeping form of his former love. Eventually a nurse came into view to check his vitals. “My name is Leah” She introduced herself. “You gave us all quite a scare for a bit there. If you can, can you tell me what all you remember?”

“Suspect…” Sherlock tried to say, but his throat was like sand.

“Here’s try and sip this, it’ll sooth your throat.” Leah said, lifting a straw to Sherlock’s lips, the water bringing instant relief. “Try again.”

“Had a suspect cornered. I got distracted.” Sherlock said slowly. “He stabbed me. Then, my head….”

“Very good. Well, not good.” Leah corrected. “You have good recollection, that’s a good sign. According to the police officer who was in earlier, it appears that you were stabbed trying to apprehend a thief. You suffered a massive amount of blood loss, and it was touch and go there for a bit. The knife hit your spleen, and we had to remove part of it to take care of the damage.”

“My head?” Sherlock crocked

“You hit your head as you fell. It’s just a mild concussion, and there seems to be no permanent damage.”

“How long?”

“Three days ago. You’ve been unconscious ever since, waking only briefly before falling under again.”

At that point, there was a gentle movement to Sherlock’s right, and the hand holding his tightened slightly before relaxing again.

“John.” Sherlock breathed, looking back to the man still fast asleep.

“Poor thing, I think this is the first time he’s slept the entire time you’ve been here.” Leah smiled down at them. “I’m sure it’s a comfort to know your fiancé here has refused to leave your side.”

Fiancé? John wasn’t….. But instead of correcting her, Sherlock asked, “Is he okay? He’s a light sleeper. We’ve been talking. Why hasn’t he woken up?”

“It’s nothing to worry about. A doctor may or may not have ordered a mild sedative for John, and I may or may not have slipped said sedative into his lunch.” Leah smiled sheepishly. “It had to be done, he was making himself ill.”

“He’s not going to like that. Drugged tea is a sore subject with John.” Sherlock’s chuckle turning into a wince as the pain in his chest flared up again.

“Carful now, we can’t have you pulling your stitches.” Leah said, placing a calming hand against Sherlock’s sternum. “I’m just going to turn up your morphine a bit so you can get some more sleep. Nothing aids in the healing process like sleep.”

As the soothing drug entered his system, Sherlock once again turned his gaze to John, the sun hitting his face making his golden eyelashes appear extra long against his cheeks. With the word ‘fiancé’ dancing around his head, Sherlock sighed and allowed sleep to finally pull him under.

 

*******

 

When Sherlock next awoke, the sun had set and it was well into the evening. The medication he had been give having worn off, the pain in his abdomen brought him back into consciousness. Doing his best to ignore the growing pain, Sherlock focused on taking in his surroundings before opening his eyes again. The sound of pages being turned, the gentle pressure on his right hand, and the smell of strong tea, gun polish, meadow fresh laundry detergent, and cheap shampoo, it smelled of…

“John.” He sighed, remembering the beautiful dream he was having before, of John sitting vigil by his side.

The pressure on his right hand increased as someone gripped it tighter. “Sherlock? Sherlock, love, can you open your eyes for me?”

Sherlock’s eyes snapped open at the sound of John’s voice. It wasn’t a dream, John was there. John was holding his hand, John was looking at him, his deep blue eyes full of concern and caring, John called him ‘love.’

“There you are. Oh god, Sherlock, I thought I lost you again.” John said softly, trying and failing to cover up a small sob. “How are you feeling? How’s your pain?”

“I’m fine.” Sherlock said, gritting his teeth at the pain speaking caused.

John reached up to adjust Sherlock’s drip. “Liar.”

“I don’t want to go back to sleep.” Sherlock protested.

“Don’t worry, it’s just enough to take the edge off.” The pain soon began to dull, and Sherlock’s head started to clear.

“Better?”  Sherlock nodded. “Good.”

“How are you here?” Sherlock asked, still unable to believe John was really sitting beside him.

John carefully smoothed the hair back from Sherlock’s forehead, a softness in his eyes Sherlock feared he’s never see again. “I’m your emergency contact. They called me the second you were brought in.”

“You stayed?”

“Of course I stayed, I couldn’t leave you.” John said gently. “I was so scared. God, I was so scared, Sherlock.”

“I’m fine.”

“You were stabbed. You lost almost 40 percent of your blood volume. You coded on the table. Then you didn’t wake up for three days.” John said, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be laying this on you. You just woke up. I’m so happy you woke up.” John smiled, his hand sliding down to rest on Sherlock’s cheek.

His heart monitor jumped; the feel of John’s skin against his, setting off a whole new feeling in Sherlock’s chest.

“It’s fine, I’m fine.” Sherlock said, seeing John’s eye shoot to the monitor. “I just never thought I’d see you again. You broke up with me, you left. I didn’t think you’d want to see me.” Sherlock couldn’t stop himself from pushing his cheek further into John’s palm.

“I know. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I never should have left.” John’s voice barely above a whisper as he moved to sit on the bed, resting his forehead against Sherlock’s.

“You did nothing wrong. It was all me. I’m the one who should be apologizing. I shouldn’t have said those things, I didn’t believe them. I’m so sorry.” The words poured from Sherlock’s mouth, once he started, he couldn’t keep them in. It was possibly a side effect of all the pain medication, but he had to make John see. “I don’t know why I said what I said. I trust you, I’ve always trusted you. I’m sorry. I was scared, I was worried, I’m sorry.”

“Shhh, shh, love. It’s alright. We can talk about it later.” A tear fell from John’s eye, landing on Sherlock’s cheek, as he smiled down at him.

“No, no, I need to say it now. We got together so fast after I came back,” John taking in a sharp breath, but Sherlock continued. “I was afraid you got swept up in the moment, and eventually you’d realize it was all a mistake, that what you felt was relief and not…. Every time I saw a woman look at you, I wondered if that was the moment you came to your senses. I love… I love you so much I couldn’t stand the thought of losing you. But in the end I still drove you away. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”

Everything went still for a moment, the beep of the heart monitor, the only sound. Then slowly, John bent down, pressing his mouth to Sherlock’s. The kiss was careful, innocent, the lightest brush of lips against lips, but to Sherlock, the kiss was everything. The kiss ignited a hope within Sherlock, a hope of understanding, of love, of forgiveness.

“You’re an idiot.” John smiled as he leaned back. “Yes we got together quickly when you came back, but that was because I didn’t want to waste a single moment of our second chance. Losing you for those two years made me realize just what you meant to me, what I felt for you. Of course when you came back, I was going to lock you down as soon as possible.” He chuckled.

 “You are patently ridiculous, John. Don’t make me laugh, it hurts.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, love.” John said, gifting Sherlock with another arrhythmia inducing kiss. “You have to know how much I love you, and only you. I’m sorry if I’ve ever made you question that.”

“Never. I’m an idiot for not seeing it, not believing it. I love you, John.”

“I love you too, Sherlock.”

“So, can we be us again?” Sherlock asked quietly.

“Oh god yes!” John laughed. “I want to put this whole thing behind us. I’m sorry I didn’t come to you sooner. I guess I was hopping you’d reach out to me, and the more time that passed, the more I convinced myself you didn’t want me anymore.”

“Never, John. Never. I will always want you, always love you” Sherlock reassured him. The very thought that Sherlock could stop wanting John was absurd, he’d laugh if it didn’t aggravate his stitches.

“I know, I’m an idiot too. But then I got the call, and when I got here, and saw you again, saw you still had my old tags, I started to hope again.”

“Your tags. Where are they?” Suddenly Sherlock felt the loss of the tags against his chest. For nine months he wore them around his neck, never taking them off, and now they were missing.

“Relax, love. They’re right here. The doctors had to take them off when you came in, but they gave them to me. They’re safe, they’re here.” John said reassuringly, placing the chain around Sherlock’s neck as he did on their anniversary. Everything felt right again.

 

They spent the next hour or so trading kisses and talking, attempting to erase the last three months from their memories. The kisses were far too gentle in Sherlock’s opinion, but John was adamant that they be careful of Sherlock’s injuries.

“Oh, and my nurse, the one with the bun and the glasses…” Sherlock said with a yawn

“Leah. Yeah, what about her?”

“She’s under the impression that you’re my fiancé”

John suddenly looked a bit sheepish. “Oh, right. Yeah. That’s because I told them I was.”

Sherlock could feel his heart rate speed up, and the beeping confirmed it. “Why?” He asked cautiously.

“I wasn't assuming anything, don't worry. I was afraid they wouldn’t let me stay with you. You know, ‘family only’ and all that crap.” John mumbled, looking down at his hands currently surrounding Sherlock’s.

“I’m sure Mycroft could have arranged something, pulled some strings.”

“Maybe, but I couldn’t take a chance.” John’s laugh a bit uneasy.

“You’re probably right, that was smart thinking.” Sherlock yawned again, the combination of the drugs and the emotional evening taking its toll on him.

“I’ve kept you wake for far too long. Get some sleep, love. I’ll be here when you wake up.” John said, raising Sherlock’s right hand to his lips, giving it a kiss.

“Hold me?”

“I don’t want to disrupt any of your lines. And besides, that bed can’t hold two grown men.” John chuckled “I’m right here, I’m right next to you.”

“You can just sit on the bed, at least until I fall asleep.” Sherlock needed John close, closer than the chair pulled up beside him.

“The things I do for you.” John sighed, climbing up to sit on the bed, his back against the wall, one legs stretched out in front of him, the other hanging off the side. Sherlock was quick to scoot over, and settle his head against John’s chest, taking comfort in the steady beat of his heart, and the feel of John’s fingers carding through his hair.

Sleep was just starting to pull him under when a thought fired through his brain. “John.” His speech was already sleep slurred. “John I have to ask you something.”

“Shh, go to sleep. Whatever it is, you can ask me in the morning. If it’s important, you’ll remember.”

It was important, Sherlock thought as he finally succumbed to sleep, wrapped safe in John’s arms.  So very, very important.

 

*******

 

“Marry me.” The words were out of Sherlock mouth before his eyes had even fully adjusted to the light.

Silence; Sherlock’s stomach plummeted. He had moved too fast, John had just agreed to take him back, to forgive him, and Sherlock had overstepped and ruined everything. Steeling himself for the rejection, Sherlock turned towards John’s chair… and relief flooded over him. Half on top of Sherlock’s bed, John lay sound asleep.

For the longest time, Sherlock prided himself on being above emotions, above sentiment. He always believed that things like love were useless, distractions, detriments, ‘a chemical defect found on the losing side.’ But looking at John, sleep almost erasing all the years of worry Sherlock etched on his face, his lips slightly parted, breathing deeply, his hair (a bit longer than he usually kept it) looking disheveled yet utterly irresistible, Sherlock was happy to admit how wrong he was. Loving John didn’t make him weak, didn’t make him lose; loving John gave him a reason to keep fighting, kept him going, made him better, made him whole.

Moving carefully so as not to exacerbate his injuries, Sherlock reached out with his right hand to thread his fingers through John’s hair. Sherlock had barely made contact when John started to stir.

“Mmmm…Sherlock.” His voice still thick with sleep, “You ok? How are you feeling? Do you need anything?”

Without a second thought, Sherlock asked again, “Marry me.”

“What?”  John sat up, looking much more awake. “You’re in pain and on a lot of medication, you can’t be sure you really what that?”

“Yes I can, and yes I do. And the pain isn’t too bad right now, I’ve had worse.” Sherlock tried to laugh, before sighing. “I’d have married you the day we got together, but I figured that might be a bit not good. I want to marry you. Marry me, John.”

“Why?” Sherlock could see there were tears starting to form in John’s eyes, he could only hope they were good tears.

“Because I love you.” He answered sternly; he couldn’t leave any doubt in John’s mind. “I love you, and I never want to be apart from you. You’re my best friend. You love me, and believe in me, and accept me for all my flaws. You see me for what I am, but can also see what I can be. I’m a better person with you, you make me better, you make me want to be better. Just listen to me, I’m being emotional and sentimental, and that’s all because of you, you inspire so many…. feelings. I love you, John. Marry me, please marry me?”

“Well when you say it like that….” John sniffled, leaning forward to capture Sherlock in a kiss, sucking Sherlock’s bottom lip between his, ever so slightly.

“So, that’s a yes?” Sherlock breathed when they separated some minutes later.

“That’s a definite yes.”

“Good, because you already told the good nurse you’re my fiancé, and I’d hate to think you’re a liar.” Sherlock smirked before pulling John down into another breath taking kiss, IVs and stitches be damned.

 

*******

 

Sherlock remained in the hospital for an additional five days, nine days total. There was a steady rotation of visitors, Molly, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, Mycroft once, and even Anderson, much to Sherlock’s dismay, but the one constant was John. John stayed by his side the entire duration of his nine day hospital incarceration. John showered in the private bathroom in Sherlock’s room, and Harry stopped by with changes of clothes. If Sherlock didn’t insist he get up and actually go to the canteen for food, John would have remained within ten feet of Sherlock at all times, not that Sherlock would have minded too much.

When Sherlock’s doctor came in for the final check, and the discharge papers were delivered, Sherlock couldn’t have been dressed, and ready to go fast enough. It wasn’t so much the boredom being confined to a hospital entailed, that got to Sherlock, it was having John so close, but never close enough. Two days after he first woke up, Sherlock had pulled John into bed with him, and got a bit carried away in his need to re-learn every single millimeter of John’s mouth, neck, and back (he’d have loved to explore more, but his abdomen really did hurt.) Needless to say, Nurse Leah had a few choice words for the pair when she came rushing in to see what had caused the spike in Sherlock’s vitals, only to find her patient mid-snog, pawing at his betrothed. From then on, John insisted on nothing more than brief, gentle kisses, hand holding, and the occasional cupping of cheeks. It was perfect, it wasn’t enough, it was hell.

“You have to pay attention, Mr. Holmes, or we can’t let you leave.” Leah sighed, pushing away a strand of strawberry blond hair that had fallen loose.

“Yes, yes. Take my medicine, be careful of my incision. You realize my fiancé is a doctor, correct?” Sherlock still got a thrill every time he said ‘fiancé’, and looked for any excuse to slip it into conversation.

“Yes, and I’m sure Dr. Watson is more than capable of looking after you. However, you’re the patient, and I need to make sure you understand everything. The quicker you start paying attention, the quicker we can get you out of here.”

“Fine, get on with it.” Sherlock huffed, ignoring John’s poorly stifled chuckle

“Excellent. Now as I was saying, because you had a partial splenectomy your immune response will be compromised until the remaining tissue can fully heal. This means you’re more susceptible to infection for the time being. To be safe, you’ll be on a course of antibiotics, and in about a week you’re immune system should be strong enough to receive the pneumonoccal, meningococcal, and HiB vaccines. For the next two weeks, because of your compromised immune system, the doctor wants you to limit your time outside, and you’re expose to others. Dr. Watson is fine, you two have a shared environment.” Leah explained, anticipating part of Sherlock’s objection.

“Right, I understand. May I leave now?” Sherlock was getting antsy; he’d agree to anything, he needed to get home.

“Almost done, there’s still the matter of your incision. We advise against baths until it’s fully healed.”

Sherlock grinned. “So you’re saying I’ll need to be given sponge baths?” He asked, making sure to catch John’s eye.

“Well that’s up to you and the good doctor here.” Leah laughed. “But showers are alright as long as you make sure to cover the incision well.”

“We have plastic wrap and surgical tape, we should be fine.” John said.

“Great! And lastly, you’re still healing, so no strenuous activity for five weeks.” This time, Leah made sure to look at John as well.

“Got it, thank you very much.” John mumbled, his face turning an adorable shade of pink, as Sherlock just chuckled.

 

Mycroft kindly sent a, miraculously Mycroft free, car, and twenty minutes after being wheeled out of the hospital front doors, Sherlock was back at 221 Baker Street. And after an additional ten minutes of Mrs. Hudson’s fussing, Sherlock was following John up the seventeen steps and through the door of flat B.

Sherlock barely took the time to look around his home of five years, noting the array of items not there nine days ago (John clearly had all his things brought back from Harry’s), before grabbing John by the shoulders and pushing him against the wall. Taking advantage of John’s surprise, Sherlock crashed their lips together. John didn’t take long to get over his shock, because soon Sherlock felt a hand slide into his hair, and gently tug, the other arm snaking around his waist. At the first hint of tongue, Sherlock’s lips parted, and allowed John to deepen the kiss. As if he could deny this man anything.

It wasn’t until Sherlock’s hands moved to start working on John’s zip, that John pulled away, seeming to have come to his senses. “Sherlock, stop. We shouldn’t. You’re not ready, you’re not healed.” He breathed.

“One hundred and eight days, John. One hundred and eight days since I’ve had you, since you’ve had me. I’m more than ready, one hundred and eight days is so very long.” Sherlock moaned, trying to capture John’s mouth again.

“I know, love. I know. But you need to avoid strenuous activity for the next five week. And believe me, when I take you to bed, our activity will most definitely be strenuous.” John all but growled, turning Sherlock’s knees to jelly.

Sherlock could only whimper as John lead him to the sofa to get him comfortable, or as comfortable as one can be when half hard and wanting. “I won’t survive five weeks, John.” He whimpered when John brought him his dose of antibiotics and pain reliever. “It’s physically impossible. We can be careful. I need you, John. I won’t make it five whole weeks.”

“Okay, drama queen.” John chuckled. “I’ll make you a deal. If you do as I say, and follow the discharge instructions, I’ll re-evaluate once your stitches come out. ”

“Yes, deal!” Sherlock all but shouted, reaching for John.

“I have to be satisfied with the level of healing, I’m not going to risk hurting you.”

“I understand, yes!” Whined Sherlock, finally grabbing hold of John’s arm and tugging him down. “I promise I won’t go for more, but right now I need to kiss you.”

“Gladly.” John murmured, his eyes closing. “But not too much.”

“Agreed.” Sherlock breathed, finally reclaiming John’s mouth in a fierce kiss. As if Sherlock could ever have too much of John. John was air, he was light, he was warmth, he was locked room mysteries, and breathless chases through London.

John Watson was love, he was everything, and Sherlock Holmes could never get enough John Watson.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this little angsty break-up/reunion story! I've actually written a little smoopy/smutty follow up to this, so if you're interested in my poor attempts to write porn, I should have that posted in a couple days.
> 
> Nurse Leah is loosely based on my best friend, who never runs of hilarious patient family stories, and has walked in on more than one patient getting...frisky.
> 
> Let me know what you think, good or bad!


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